The One With Ross Geller's Weddings
by Cynthia Salander
Summary: Ross Geller is getting married – once, twice. Oh, wait - thrice. MONDLER.
1. Prologue

_A/N: I know the summary and the title are very misleading, and hence the uppercase 'Mondler'._

_I shouldn't be starting another fic – You know that, I know that, everyone knows that, but this idea struck me all of a sudden, and it kinda has a pattern (you'll know what I mean when I complete the fic), and I like it when things have a pattern (and I like having to do too many things all at once) :)_

_I very vaguely remember reading a Mondler 'love-hate' fic, and I remember enjoying it very much (please don't ask me for the title, 'cause I honestly don't remember it). And this is my first attempt at Mondler love-hate._

_According to my plan right now, this will contain no more than 5 chapters (including the prologue). **Please note that I've posted the prologue and Chapter 1 now. **__Oh, and this is very, very AR at some places, and rather similar to canon at others._

_(WendyCR72, and certaindarkthings, if you guys are reading this, I just wanted to say that I **will **be updating 'If it's Love' on or before the next Sunday__ :))_

**The One With Ross Geller's Weddings**

**Prologue**

Some love stories don't have a happy ending (those were the most unfortunate).

Some have great beginnings, and then end mediocrely (not so very fortunate, either).

Theirs was a different story altogether. It started in a way she could never have imagined, it ended in a way he would never even have dreamed of (_so fortunate that I'm actually jealous, _Rachel always said).

Who knew that her brother getting married thrice would change _their _lives forever?

~.~.~

_A/N: Once again, note that I have posted the next chapter, too._


	2. Chapter 1

******The One With Ross Geller's Weddings**

**1991 – Wedding of Ross Geller & Carol Willick (Part 1)**

"I cannot and I _will_ NOT walk down the aisle with that jerk," Monica fumes with a quick look at Rachel, who watches her best friend helplessly, adjusting her feet on the plush, blue ottoman in the hotel room.

Nothing can be changed now, and they both know that. But then, Monica needs her release.

Carol, Monica's soon to be sister-in-law, nods to Rachel knowingly as she places a soothing hand on Monica's shoulder. "You're not going to be walking _down _the aisle with him, just _up _the aisle, behind me and Ross, and how long is that going to take?"

"I don't know! A lifetime?" she moans pitifully, looking at the other two women for some help. "Why, _why_ did my stupid brother have to ask _him_ to be his Best Man?" She never asks why Carol chose her as the Maid of Honor, though.

From the moment Ross announced that he and Carol were engaged, she'd known that Chandler would be his Best Man, and she hadn't even been surprised when her brother had told her that he'd indeed asked Chandler, but now, with the rehearsal dinner tonight, and with the wedding tomorrow, the thought of having to walk down (_or up! Who cares, really?) _the aisle, hand in hand with _that _man physically nauseates her.

Even at the engagement party, they both had avoided each other as much as they possibly could.

"Well..." Carol trails off uncomfortably. "They've been best friends since college-"

"And I have been his sister for the past twenty-one years!" she exclaims, as if that alone is reason enough for Ross to not have Chandler as his Best Man.

"Why do you hate him so much, anyway?" Carol asks curiously.

"Oh, you don't know the story?" Rachel chuckles, but quickly clams up when Monica glares at her.

"He called me fat," she replies to Carol quietly.

"He called you _fat_?" Carol's eyes widen, incredulous.

"Back then, she really was uh... a _big_ girl," Rachel supplies to Carol in a conspiratorial tone.

"Thank you, Rachel," Monica nods, unamused.

"You're mad at him because he called you fat?" Carol asks again. "When did this happen?"

"A couple of years back," Monica answers, suddenly uncomfortable. "And that's not the only reason."

"She cut his toe off in return," Rachel says quickly, unable to control herself from giggling at that memory.

"_You _were the one who cut his toe off?!" Carol asks in astonishment.

"It wasn't like I did it on purpose!" Monica defends herself. "Wait, who did _he _say it was?"

"He never did," Carol shakes her head. "He never liked to talk about it. He and Ross were always vague when any of us asked what had happened to his feet. I mean, I can understand him not wanting to talk about it," Carol shrugs. "People kept calling him 'Sir-Limps-a-Lot' for a whole year."

A tiny smile begins to form on Monica's lips, but she instantly stops it from spreading, admonishing herself the second the thought '_Serves you right, Bing' _flits through her mind.

Maybe he had called her fat, but they both had been young and naive. And stupid. His ridiculous 'Flock of Seagulls' hair, and her own silly, little crush on him were testimonies to the fact that they both had indeed been stupid.

And yes, he'd been grumpy and surly towards her throughout his forced overnight stay at the Geller residence after the Toe-Cutting incident. In fact, she'd even heard him whisper fiercely to Ross, asking him to keep 'his sister' away from him. _Who knows what else she might cut off? I'm pretty fond of my other body parts. Oh, and she's going nowhere near my groin._

As much as she'd hated him for that comment, the memory of his last line still brings a reluctant smile to her lips.

_Funny bastard._

_No, no, just 'bastard', _her brain corrects her, _just bastard._

The point is, though, whatever might have been the case, he didn't deserve to lose a toe.

"Where are you?" Rachel peers into her face. "Earth to Monica."

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head. "I just... I'm sorry," she repeats.

"Anyway," Rachel continues, glancing at Carol as if for reassurance, "I know you don't like him very much and all, but at the same time, since _you_ cut his toe off, I'm sure he's not very fond of you either. So, you two can just hold hands and kinda jog down the aisle after Ross and Carol once the ceremony's over, and you don't have to see him much after that!" she smiles brightly at Monica.

"I suppose," Monica shrugs, not really satisfied. She frowns suddenly. "And I don't think he hates _me _as much as _I _hate him."

"I don't know about that, Mon..." Rachel trails off, even though she knows that she should agree with Monica if she wishes to end this conversation now, because, for Monica, everything is a competition. "You _did_ cut his toe off, so-"

"Whose side are you on?!" Monica asks, exasperated.

"Oh, yours, yours, definitely yours," Rachel pacifies her, rolling her eyes when Monica doesn't notice. "So, just walk down the aisle with him, and don't try to start a conversation if you bump into each other tonight, okay? Everything will be fine."

"Okay," she sighs, not sounding very pleased with the solution that her best friend has come up with. "I don't really have a choice, do I?" she smiles wryly.

Carol smiles at her sympathetically, and Rachel bites her tongue to prevent herself from asking, 'At what point did you think you had a choice?'. Monica can be really scary if she wanted to be.

"I guess we should start with your make up then," Monica grabs Carol by her arm, finally remembering that _that_ is the reason why she and Rachel had come up to Carol's room.

~.~

The wedding is in Florida, where Carol's family lives. Monica looks around the rehearsal dinner hall in appreciation. Well-lit and spacious, her own rehearsal dinner would take place in a hall like this, she decides.

Ross goes around the hall, making small talk with almost every guest. He chuckles uncomfortably, and shuffles from one foot to the other from time to time, and she knows that her brother is nervous.

Twenty-two is too young an age to get married; at least that's how she feels, and she thinks that that's probably why he's nervous.

When she'd asked him why he's getting married so young, he'd replied, 'When you meet the _one, _you just know that that's the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. It doesn't matter whether you're young or old'.

Maybe that's what it feels like to be in love.

She smiles at that memory, feeling incredibly happy for Ross.

Her eyes follow her brother as he moves towards a group of young men, probably his college mates, and that's when she spots _him_.

_Chandler Bing._

He looks much more handsome than she remembers. She admits that much to herself grudgingly.

He hasn't noticed her.

He faces slightly away from her. She watches him laugh easily, patting Ross on the back as he says something. His hair seems to be a bit longer now, and it lightly brushes his nape whenever he turns his head. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, and in the pale blues, she sees that he's truly happy for his good friend.

_Good looking bastard._

_No, no, just 'bastard', _her brain corrects her again, _just bastard._

Still laughing at something that one of the other guys is saying, he turns around and he finally sees her, his eyes registering surprise. For a second, she relishes the double take he does upon seeing her.

She cannot explain the moment. His unwavering gaze holds hers, and the hundred guests who are around her disappear from her vision; it feels like her surrounding is too hot and too cold all at once.

She exhales in relief when someone taps her on the shoulder. She turns around gratefully to find that it's Rachel, who stares at Chandler, then at her, and then back at Chandler, frowning.

"Am I interrupting something?" Rachel asks, still frowning.

"No, no," Monica denies quickly, feeling nonplussed for some unfathomable reason. "I was just trying to avoid my mother," she shrugs. It is partially true.

"Oh, okay," Rachel nods, willing to move on to other topics. "I just wanted to ask-"

"Hey, guys," Ross interrupts Rachel, and they both turn around to face him. And beside him is the Best Man.

_I hate my life. No, actually, I hate my brother._

She glares at her brother for bringing Chandler with him now, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Chandler doesn't look very pleased with Ross, either.

Ross ignores both the death glares. Some things are social conventions, basic etiquettes, that just need to be followed (and he's confident that neither of them would dare to kill the groom).

He smiles at Rachel fondly, but his smile disappears after a second and he turns away looking guilty for some reason. He clears his throat to break the awkward silence and points at Chandler as he speaks again. "You guys remember Chandler, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Monica grits through her teeth.

Chandler stares at this woman in amazement. _She _had cut his toe off, and now she has the audacity to act like _he_ had done something incredibly wrong and thus had offended her.

As he glares back at her, his eyes examine her features thoroughly – how her perfect, high cheekbones tinge with pink, how her seemingly luscious lips quiver slightly, how the nostrils of her delicate little nose flare with arrogance, and how her deep blue eyes stare back at him with pure contempt.

He realizes that she is the definition of metamorphosis - from a fat, sweet girl, to a pretty, awkward teenager, and then finally into this gorgeous, indignant young woman, whom he's pretty sure is the most beautiful woman to have ever cut a man's toe off.

_Focus, Chandler._

"It's nice to meet you again, Chandler," Rachel smiles and extends a for him to shake.

He obliges, smiling back politely. "You, too, Rachel."

"And you remember Monica..." Ross trails off, looking at Chandler.

Two heads snap towards Ross abruptly. What is he trying to do? Matchmake? Amend things between them?

"Vividly," Chandler replies finally and turns to Monica with a phony smile. "How are you, Monica?"

"Fine, fine, thank you," she mirrors his smile. "How are you?" she asks him sweetly.

"Great, thanks!" he shrugs, noticing when her eyes momentarily land on his right foot. "Yeah, it's still missing," he adds nodding at his foot, knowing and enjoying that he's making her feel uncomfortable. "Apparently, toes don't grow back."

_Sarcastic bastard._

The tension is palpable. Ross backs away from Monica when she looks at him, seething.

Monica turns to face Chandler again, starting to say something, which they all know will _not_ be lovely to hear.

But Rachel interrupts quickly. "Ross, you said you'd show me the ring!"

"Oh, yes, yes," Ross nods, relieved. His hands feel his pockets absently, searching for the ring. "Oh, yeah, it's with you, Chandler."

"Right," Chandler nods, looking away from a glowering Monica as he reaches into his pant pocket. "Here it is," he pulls out the ring box, but when he succeeds in getting it out of his pocket, something else falls onto the floor – a pack of cigarettes.

He hands the ring to Ross and bends down to pick up the pack, and that's when he hears the toe-cutter mutter, "What a filthy, _disgusting_ habit."

"What was that?" he asks her as he rises, his own face turning red with anger. This woman really has some nerve.

"I said, what a filth-" Monica starts to repeat.

Rachel cuts her off instantly to prevent things from turning ugly. "She, uh... she's just allergic to cigarette smoke. That's all," she smiles, pulling Monica away from the two men by holding her arm firmly, almost painfully. "Why don't you come with me, Mon? I'll show you that thing that I was telling you about. Oh, and that's such a beautiful ring, Ross!" she smiles at him before practically dragging Monica away.

Ross stares at the unopened ring box, and then at Rachel's retreating figure.

"Dude, I swear, if you weren't the groom, I will _kill_ you," Chandler nods threateningly before he walks away to join his group of friends on the other side of the room.

~.~

The dinner has ended pretty soon, much to Chandler's surprise. So, rather than going up to his room, he walks out onto the hotel balcony on the floor where his room is.

The evening had gone pretty smoothly, he concludes. Except for a few hitches at the start, everything else had went fine. His rehearsal dinner toast had been rather well-received, most of the people had laughed, and now he feels a sense of pride as he remembers that even Miss Toe Cutter Geller had laughed (even though she had tried to hide her smile behind her napkin).

He takes out the cigarette pack from his pocket, pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He takes a deep drag and blows out the smoke slowly, watching it with fascination.

He looks at the cigarette adoringly – how could anyone possibly think that this precious, little thing is 'filthy'?

That 'filthy' comment suddenly reminds him of her. Sure, she had glared at him throughout the evening, but he thinks that he'd seen an unmistakable sadness in her eyes whenever she'd been around her mother.

It's a look he can recognize anywhere, because when he had been younger, he had worn the same look whenever he was around his parents.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and he turns around to look who it is.

"Hey, there you are!" Ross enters, looking relieved to find him.

"Here I am," he nods, raising the cigarette to his lips again.

Ross gives a look of disgust. "Y'know, that really is a filthy habit," he points at the cigarette, waving a hand in front of his face to ward off the smoke.

"Yes, about that," Chandler points the cigarette at him, "if you try to fix things between me and your sister one more time, I _will_ kill you," he nods. "Groom or not," he adds.

"I'm sorry, Chandler," Ross sighs. "It's just that, you're my best friend, and she's my sister. I want you two to get along with each other."

"Yeah, you can forget about that," he takes another puff. "Why are you here now anyway?"

"Well, I need a favor," Ross starts hesitantly.

"What?" Chandler frowns, suspicious.

"I'm spending the night with Carol," he whispers conspiratorially. "So if anyone asks, can you just tell them that I've gone to sleep?"

"I thought the groom shouldn't see the bride before the wedding," Chandler's frown deepens. "And it's almost midnight..." he trails off, glancing at his watch.

"That's just a stupid superstition," Ross waves it off. "Do you believe in that sort of thing?" he asks, curious.

Chandler chuckles. "No, not really, but I'm a little wary when it comes to this one. You see, my mom once told me that she saw my father before their wedding. Actually, she saw him with one of the groomsmen," he shrugs. "And you know how _their _marriage turned out."

Ross laughs lightly. "Well, I'm not gay," he shakes his head. "So unless Carol is gay, I think Carol and I are safe here."

They do not realize how ironic Ross's statement is. In fact, they will not realize it for a very long time.

Something about this particular conversation makes Chandler very uncomfortable, but he's not able to figure out what it is. It's probably nothing, he shrugs mentally. "Enjoy, man," he pats Ross on the back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Chandler," Ross smiles at him widely before he exits the balcony.

Alone again, Chandler simply stands there, taking occasional drags from his cigarette.

He hears another set of footsteps, and as he once again turns to see who it is, his heart stops beating for a second.

It is little Miss Toe Cutter Geller.

~.~.~

_A/N: Like it so far? Well, I hope you do :)_

_I'm sorry if the end is kind of abrupt, but I had to stop somewhere, and I did it with much reluctance. I wanted this 'Ross/Carol wedding' to be a single chapter, but then my word document kept becoming longer and longer, and I'm scared that it'd come to around 6500 words if it's a single chapter._

_The next chapter is already half-written, and I will be updating it in a day or two :)_


	3. Chapter 2

_A/N: As you might have noticed, it's already Sunday, and I'm just now updating __**this**__ fic, which obviously means that I haven't yet started on 'If it's Love'. I apologize for all this delay, but I have a very valid reason - the word count of this chapter is 5267. This, I'm pretty sure, is the longest chapter I've ever written. I'm sorry for such a freakishly long chapter, but I did not want to turn this again into two parts. It's mostly dialogues, so it shouldn't be hard to read in one sitting (at least, I hope so)._

_And, I'm really in the mood to write some Mondler angst, so my next update will be 'If it's Love', which you can expect soon. Once again, I'm sorry!_

Disclaimer: I think it should be pretty obvious by now that I don't own the show, and I sure don't own the lines from the show.

**The One With Ross Geller's Weddings**

**1991 – Wedding of Ross Geller & Carol Willick (Part 2)**

He hears another set of footsteps, and as he once again turns to see who it is, his heart stops beating for a second.

It is little Miss Toe Cutter Geller.

She bangs her fists repeatedly against the balcony railing as she mutters, "I hate her! I _hate _her!"

He raises his eyebrows, surprised on realizing that she hasn't noticed his presence there. Probably because he's leaning against the wall on the other end.

He takes another puff from his cigarette and blows it out, smirking. "So you're not _that _allergic to cigarette smoke after all."

"Shit!" she gasps in shock, taking an involuntary step back. A hand to her heart, her eyes wide, she breathes rapidly, staring at him. "You scared the crap out of me!"

He stubs out the cigarette on the railing and shrugs unapologetically, looking out onto the dark night sky. "Sorry."

Warily, she keeps staring at him for several seconds but looks away when he turns his head towards her. "What are you doing out here?" she asks finally.

"Just enjoying the view," he spread his hands. "What are _you _doing out here?"

"Nothing," she mutters again, wondering whether it is sensible to stay here alone with him on the balcony.

He might push her from the balcony, or quite possibly, _she_ would push him.

Even though she feels his eyes on her, she resolutely stares down at the landscaping, ignoring him.

"So, um... Who do you hate?" he asks hesitantly after several seconds of silence. "Please don't say 'you'. I already know that," he chuckles, his nervousness unmistakable.

"It's none of your busi-" she starts heatedly, but as she sees the look on his face, she stops the acrid words from leaving her lips. His face is sincere, the look in his eyes convey that he knows she'll most probably hurt him with her answer. But he doesn't look away, he just gives her a mirthless smile. "My mom," she says finally, with much reluctance. "It's my mom."

"Oh," he nods. "What did she do again?" he smiles a little as he moves closer to her.

_Why on earth are you starting a conversation with the toe cutter?_ his brain asks him, incredulous.

_Because she looks like something is bothering her, _he replies to his brain.

_Y'know what they say, when you start talking to yourself, you're going crazy, _chuckles another voice inside his head. He turns it off immediately.

_Oh, and the lack of a pinky toe on your right foot isn't bothering you? _his brain asks again.

Even as his brain protests, he puts it on mute.

"Well," she shrugs, still looking at him warily. "You know how mothers can be sometimes. Critical, disapproving, condescending," she lists, her face turning a deeper shade of red with each word. "Partial, irritating, _bitchy_," she finishes, her teeth gritted. "I'd rather not talk about her now," she shakes her head.

"Okay," he nods, "but that's a hell lot of adjectives, though."

She smiles lightly as she turns her head away, wondering what has changed suddenly. Why is she talking to him? Why is _he _talking to her? Is this not the same man she'd spent the entire evening glowering at? She turns to him again and meets his eyes. "This feels weird," she says, motioning between them.

"Tell me about it," he chuckles, looking away.

She stares at his profile, noticing how his sharp nose flares a little whenever he exhales. She smiles as she remembers that she had admired his nose endlessly when she'd harbored that very brief, but very intense crush on him.

He'd have balked at the idea of Ross's fat little sister having a crush on him.

She sighs. Maybe he is trying to mend things between them. After all, it has been nearly three years now. And she has to meet him at least halfway.

Eventually, she murmurs the words she never thought she'd say again in a million years. "I'm sorry I cut your toe off."

He snaps his head towards her, shocked. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

She takes a deep breath and slowly repeats, "I'm sorry I cut your toe off."

"Wow," he shakes his head in amazement. When she arches an eyebrow, not looking very pleased, he hurries. "I mean, thanks! That- that means a lot to me."

She narrows her eyes unbelievingly.

"I cannot say 'That's okay, let's forget about it', 'cause I really do miss my toe," he grins. "But still, thanks." When she turns away, smiling softly, he moves even closer to her to ask her his next question. "Just so I know, _why _did you cut my toe off?"

"Are you saying I did it on purpose?" she counters, offended, her angry demeanor returning.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he holds his hands up in mock defense, "but would you deny if I said that you were acting _incredibly_ weird just before you cut my toe off?"

"Stop saying the phrase 'You cut my toe off'!" she exclaims in exasperation.

"Well, that is the truth, isn't it? You did cut my toe off!" he exclaims in return. "And I think I deserve to know at least _why _you cut my toe off!"

They glare at each other for several moments before they both start to laugh at the ridiculousness of their conversation.

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it," he says finally, smiling.

"Alright, you wanna know why I was acting weird?" she relents.

"If you don't mind telling me..." he shrugs.

Placing her dignity on the line, she quietly says, "I was trying to flirt with you."

"Um... what?" he shakes his head, certain that he'd heard her wrong.

Why is he making her repeat each and every single embarrassing thing!

"I said, I was trying to _flirt_ with you," she repeats, stressing her words.

"You- you- you were trying to _flirt _with me?" he asks her incredulously. "With the carrots and the knife?" His eyes wide, he stares at her in disbelief, his expression a little too gleeful for her liking. "Let me tell you, that was some Class-A flirting!"

"I wasn't _'flirting'_ flirting! I just wanted to get you naked!" she says, and immediately, her hand flies to her mouth, covering her lips with her palm, shocked with herself.

He nods appreciatively, his smirk getting wider. "Wow, this is turning more and more interesting by the minute!"

She slowly removes her hand from her mouth and looks at him with a little sympathy. "Okay, look," she inhales deeply before she sighs, "God, this is embarrassing."

"Let me stop you right there," he raises a hand. "This conversation has provided me with a much-needed ego boost, so if you're going to ruin that for me by saying something like 'I was planning on doing an on the spot castration on you', please don't continue," he pleads.

She giggles, realizing that he'd come very close to what she'd had in mind on _that_ fateful day.

"You _weren't_ going to perform castration on me, were you?" he looks at her dubiously as she continues to giggle.

"No," she shakes her head, "but you're very close."

He raises an eyebrow.

"I was trying to get you naked and throw you out the front yard."

He stares at her blankly. "Because that's one of your family's customary acts...?"

Here comes the hard part_. _"Do you remember the first time you came to our house? Do you remember that Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah," he shrugs.

"Do you remember how I used to look back then?"

"Um..." he shifts uncomfortably. "Yeah."

"Do you remember _calling _me fat?"

"What?!" he looks at her, shocked.

"You called me fat," she tells him, looking him in the eye. "I was trying to get my revenge by making you think that I wanted to have sex with you, get you naked, and then throw you out the door, but my plan went awry and I got a little more revenge than I'd have liked," she chuckles.

"I called you _fat?_"

Judging by the expression on his face, she knows he's stunned by this piece of information. She nods, "Yes."

"I don't even remember that..." he trails off, his eyes wide.

"Well, I do," she shrugs.

"I'm so sorry," he shakes his head. "I really am. I'm sorry, but you _have _to cut me some slack – I mean, I was an idiot back then!" he throws his hands up. "Do you not remember my Flock of Seagulls haircut?"

She laughs, nodding. "I do."

"And did you know that I rushed the stage at a 'Wham!' concert?" he asks her, and nods to emphasize his point when she looks at him. "George Michael _slapped _me." He sighs, "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," she shrugs. "I guess we're even."

"_Even?_" he cocks an eyebrow. "I'd say we're _more _than even," he lifts his foot a little and shakes it.

She grins. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too."

"And," he continues, "if it's of any consolation to you, I think you're smokin' hot now."

He gives her an appreciative once-over, watching her cheeks turn a light shade of pink, such that they match the color of her cocktail dress.

She looks away from him, feeling her cheeks burn, smiling in spite of herself. "That's not much of a consolation, really," she shakes her head.

"Really?" he asks her, curious.

"Really," she nods.

"_Really?_" he raises an unbelieving eyebrow, leaning closer to her.

"_Really,_" she laughs, pushing him away.

~.~

"My middle name is Muriel," he says slowly, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

"Okay," she nods, biting her cheeks to stop herself from grinning. "I had sex on a pool table once."

They're sitting together on the balcony steps, and she doesn't know how long they'd been out there.

Their conversation has changed its direction several times and it'd finally reached this point – sharing a secret without being judged.

He had offered her his coat, which she wears now over her sleeveless dress. She pulls it closer around her, seeking warmth within its confines.

"Y'know what, this is totally unfair," he shakes his head. "Your embarrassing secrets are not _embarrassing_ enough!" he exclaims. "I mean, 'sex on a pool table'? That's not embarrassing, that's just... hot!"

He stares off into the space behind her with a dreamy look on his face and she knows that his imagination has gone wild. He yelps in pain when she elbows him hard. She grins knowing that she'd succeeded in bringing him back to reality.

"I cut a man's toe off while trying to flirt with him. Do you think anything could be more embarrassing than that?" she asks. "Maybe my secrets are not as embarrassing as _yours,_" she smirks, "but on my scale, mine are pretty embarrassing."

"Okay," he nods reluctantly. "Umm..." he frowns as he searches his brain for one of his 'embarrassing secrets', "yeah, okay, I've been smoking since I was nine," he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"_Nine?!"_ she exclaims, shocked.

"Hey, you said no judging!"

"I'm not judging," she shakes her head unconvincingly, "but _nine_?!"

"Thank you for not judging," he smiles, his voice oozing with sarcasm.

"I'm sorry, but..." she trails off, staring at him.

"My parent's got divorced when I was nine," he explains. "It was one of my coping strategies."

"And I'm scared to ask what your other coping strategies were."

"Yeah, you'll be better off without knowing that," he nods, patting her arm. "Anyway, it's your turn."

"I've wanted to kill my mother ever since _I_ was nine," she chuckles.

She's joking, he knows that, but when her smile disappears, something tugs at his heart. Without any signal from his brain, his hand reaches for hers and squeezes it comfortingly. He releases it a second later.

"Your turn," she smiles at him.

He leans back to check whether the hallway is clear and leans in towards her again, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Promise you won't laugh?"

She giggles a little but stops when he raises an eyebrow. "I promise."

"Okay, no one knows this. Well, except for my parents," he shrugs, "and the few girls who were crazy enough to sleep with me," he mumbles. "Oh, my nanny most probably knew, but I don't real-"

"Chandler," she interrupts his rambling. "What is it?"

"Fine, not even your brother knows this, and remember, you promised you wouldn't laugh," he reminds her. He takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "I have a third nipple."

She stares at him blankly for several seconds before she lets out a snort. "_What?_"

"Hey, you promised you wouldn't laugh!" he glares at her, offended.

"It's true?" she doesn't even try to stop herself from laughing. "You have a third nipple?!"

He turns away without replying, but she can see he's trying hard not to laugh himself.

"You know, if you were a woman, you'd be every guy's fantasy," she falls into another fit of giggles as he turns towards her again and continues to glare at her.

"And thank you for not laughing," he says in a monotone.

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head finally, wiping tears aways from her eyes. "See?" she smiles, "I didn't laugh."

"Yeah, right," he snorts.

"I'm sorry, but did you actually expect me not to laugh?" she looks at him incredulously. "I mean, you have a _third _nipple," she giggles again.

"Well, that'll teach me to tell a woman that I have a third nipple," he mutters. "It's your turn now," he nudges her knee. "_You_ don't by any chance have a third nipple, do you?"

"No," she shakes her head, grinning. "I'm sure only a blessed few have one."

"All right, that's it, no more 'third nipple' talk, okay?"

"Okay," she nods.

"Now, tell me a secret," he leans back against the wall, smiling at her.

She glances at her watch. Almost twelve-fifteen. She looks back at him, realizing that she has no desire to leave him and go up to her room. She pushes her hands into his coat pockets and tugs the coat closer to her body. She looks at him, trying to judge whether it'd be right to tell him what she now has in mind. She decides to risk it. "A guy called me fat once, and I lost nearly 90 pounds in a year just because of him."

"Well," he smirks, "a girl told me that she cut my toe off because she was trying to flirt with me. I've been trying to flirt back with for quite some time now, and I have _no _idea whether it's working."

She grins, squinting at him. "If the girl's thinking about the guy's third nipple, does it mean that the flirting is working?"

"Okay, that's it, I'm going to my room," he moves to stand up, but she pulls him back, both of them laughing.

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head. "I couldn't resist."

"Obviously," he mutters.

They look away from each other, staring ahead, relishing the comfortable silence.

She still doesn't understand how the evening had turned out this way. A few hours back, she couldn't even have imagined herself being in the same room with Chandler, now she is sitting next to him, wearing his coat, wishing that they both could stay out here all night, stay out here even after dawn.

He interrupts her thoughts as he starts to speak again slowly.

"You know what scares me the most?"

There's something different in his tone this time. She turns to look at him. "What?"

"The thought of standing at the altar as the groom and staring at a woman who's not my bride, thinking, 'God, I wish I was marrying _her_."

She frowns, confused. What is he talking about?

"Or worse," he continues, "finding _that _one woman, and then screwing things up with her by doing something stupid."

"What are you saying?"

This is one secret that Ross had trusted him with since the beginning of their friendship. He will not tell her that. He just tells her what he feels. "Have you seen the way Ross looks at your friend Rachel?"

Her frown deepens. "What are you talking about? They've known each other since they were kids."

"I may be wrong," he shrugs, "but whenever I see the way he looks at Rachel, it scares me to think of myself in his place. And you know what makes it even worse? Tonight I saw Carol looking at Rachel, pretty much the same way."

"Chandler!" she looks at him, shocked. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny," he shrugs again. When he sees that she still looks stunned, he waves his hand lightly. "Just, just- forget I said that."

"But I don't-" she starts.

"Really," he says more firmly. "Forget I said that."

She turns away with reluctance. He cannot just say something like _that_ and expect her to 'forget' about it. "Are you seeing someone?" she asks, suddenly very curious.

"No, no," he chuckles. "It's been nearly six months now. You see, I don't do the commitment thing," he explains. "It completely freaks me out, and the fact that it freaks me out freaks _women _out, so... y'know they get tired and just don't stick around for too long, or I chase them away by getting all weird and extremely commitment-phobic. To be precise, I'm like the Anti-Ross," he laughs.

"Ross... I don't know," she shrugs, her tone a little skeptical. "I feel like he's a little too young to be getting married, but I think he's happy with Carol, _despite_ what you just said," she arches an eyebrow, "and I think he'll make this work. All I want is for him to be happy," she smiles. "But you, why wouldn't you do the 'commitment thing'?"

"I don't know. There's this alarm inside my head which begins to ring incessantly when things start to get serious; when I start to feel something for that woman. Y'know, something besides that basic liking," he states it as a matter-of-fact.

"Why does it scare you?" she asks softly, feeling a small sense of elation somewhere inside of her, knowing that she's probably the only woman to whom he'd willingly opened up.

"Doesn't it scare _you_?" he retorts curiously.

"On some level, yes," she nods. "But I don't push people away. I'm by no means commitment-phobic. Most of the times, I'm just scared that I'll never meet the right person, or I've met him already but never really noticed him." She hugs her knees, gazing at him. "Why does it scare you?" she repeats.

"It feels like drowning, and that's never a pleasant feeling," he smiles.

"What happens after you 'drown'?" she frowns.

"Man, you ask a lot of questions," he laughs.

"I'm just curious," she shrugs, smiling back.

"Oh, I _never_ drown," he shakes his head. "When it starts to feel like I'm drowning, that's the point where I get all weird, scared, and commitment-phobic."

"So what do you do when you get scared?"

"I run," he shrugs. "Sometimes, literally," he laughs again.

She laughs with him, but shakes her head a moment later. "But you can't just run every time you're scared."

"I can't?!"

Thinking that he's mocking her, she glares at him. But from the look on his face, she realizes the truth – this man is genuinely distraught by the idea of not being able to run whenever he's scared.

"No, honey, you can't," she smiles at him tenderly.

The term of endearment has slipped out so easily and naturally. Both notice, but neither minds.

"Well, that's a little unsettling," he comments, turning away. "But... I just figured that if the right woman comes along, I'll just know it," he says slowly. "With her, I wouldn't freak out. With her, I'll at least work hard not to freak out," he turns to her again, his expression hopeful, like he's seeking her reassurance. "Does that make sense?"

She gazes back at him, feeling a sudden, intense surge of companionate love for him. Her brain tells her that this is the same Chandler whom she'd not have hesitated to kill, just a few hours back, had the circumstance been conducive, but her heart tells her that this is a different guy, altogether.

Her fingers rise against her volition to brush his cheek.

His light stubble scrapes her knuckles. He peers into her eyes, his gaze unwavering and intense, and she thinks she can see a trace of lust in his eyes. Feeling a hazy, unfamiliar dizziness, she returns his gaze, wondering whether her own eyes mirror his lust.

_No good could come out of this,_ says a voice inside her brain, and she immediately knows that it's true. No good _will_ come out of this.

She pulls her hand away sharply, turning her eyes to the floor, feeling the color flood her cheeks.

The last thing she needs now is another crush on this man, who, in his own words, is 'commitment-phobic'.

She rises to her feet, removes his coat slowly, and extends it towards him as she quietly says, "It's getting late."

"Where are you going?" he asks without taking his coat from her.

"To my room," she shrugs, leaning down to place the coat on his lap.

"Can't you stay for a little while longer, Mon?" He frowns, "Can I call you Mon?"

"Yes," she nods, smiling, "you can, but I can't stay. It's-"

"We could just talk or something," he interrupts, his tone hopeful.

"Chandler... I don't think-"

His hand rises, and his fingers thread their way through hers. "Stay," he murmurs.

She nods slowly, wondering why she had wanted to leave in the first place.

~.~

She is pinned between the hallway wall and Chandler. His warm fingers are splayed against the cool skin of her back, trailing along her skin, drawing patterns that she cannot be bothered to decipher right now.

One hand wrapped around his nape, holding him close, her other hand snakes its way through his hair absently as he trails kisses along her jawline.

His lips return to hers, and she parts her lips to meet his tongue with her own, feeling his thumb trace her cheekbone.

He kisses her as if his life depends on it, and even as she clings back to him, she doesn't know how the moment has transcended to this point.

One second, they are standing in front of her door, facing each other awkwardly; the next, his lips are on hers, and she is left wondering, just for a second before she loses her sense of reality, how this could possibly feel so natural. So _right._

He fingers the satin of her dress, edging above her breasts, tentatively. Her skin burns wherever he touches.

He pulls away a second later, his gaze soft as he leans in to brush his lips against her eyelids.

Her eyes closed, she sighs, trailing her hands from his nape to his neck, pulling him closer by his shirt collar.

Just as he leans in to kiss her again, the elevator in the hallway pings open to reveal a middle-aged man stepping out of it.

Chandler places his hands flat on the wall either side of Monica's waist, both of them breathing hard as they look down, waiting for the man to go past them to reach his room.

The man eyes the couple suspiciously as he passes them. He retrieves the key-card from his pocket, and just before he enters his room, he shakes his head disapprovingly, muttering, "Kids these days..."

Once the door closes, Chandler chuckles, turning to Monica, but he turns quiet on seeing the look on her face.

Reality has settled in.

She shakes her head slowly as her brain manages one small moment of lucidity. "It probably wouldn't have been the greatest idea," she whispers, looking down.

His heart hammers against his ribs, his desire for her overwhelming him, but as reluctant as he is to admit it, it is true – it wouldn't have been the greatest idea. After all, she is _Ross's _little sister.

"Yeah," he whispers back eventually.

Her hands remain on his collar, and his still remain in such a way that she's effectively trapped between his arms.

She lifts her eyes to meet his, her gaze lingering on his lips for a moment – her own feel swollen and tender from his kisses.

Why is she looking at him like that? If she wants him to stop, she should push him away, not look at him like that.

Reality fades away once again as the moment returns. He seizes it by leaning forward, nibbling on her lower lip.

She closes her eyes again, her grip on his collar tightening.

He pulls back from her lips and leans his forehead against hers, nudging her nose with his gently. "I make poor decisions all the time," he murmurs, his own eyes closed.

"Me, too," she murmurs back as she pulls him by his collar for another kiss.

~.~

She stretches languorously in her bed the next morning, feeling deliciously sore, the post-coital afterglow still lingering.

Her eyes still closed, she smiles a little as her hand reaches the other side of the bed, searching for him.

Her eyes snap open when all she feels is the cold bed. His side of the bed is empty.

She props herself on her elbow to check whether his clothes are still in the room, tears pricking her eyes when she finds none.

He has left.

She returns her eyes to the bed, touching the place where he'd slept next to her.

The only proof for the fact that he had spent the night there, holding her in his arms, is the smell of him on the rumpled sheets.

He has left her like a cheap one-night stand.

~.~

He has hurt her. He knows that.

He watches her move around gracefully beside her mother. Her face pale, her eyes red-rimmed, she pretends to be happy when she's not.

She meets his eyes for a moment, her eyes flashing hurt. She looks away immediately, her eyes turning bright and shiny with tears that he knows he had caused.

He wants to pull her aside and explain to her that he had not meant to hurt her, that it had been a reflex – a very strong urge to run; a very strong urge to escape that overwhelming sense of drowning.

_I run every time I'm scared, _he had told her last night, and now he'd showed her how he does it.

He watches her walk down the aisle alone, her head held low, her face expressionless, his heart breaking with every step that she takes towards him.

As Carol walks down the aisle, he knows that Ross is looking at Rachel, just like he had told Monica last night.

His own eyes never leave her.

She had been right. He cannot run every time he's scared.

He should not have run away from _her._

_~.~_

The bride and the groom kiss, and as they begin to walk away from the altar, hand in hand, he knows it's the moment that he'd been both awaiting and dreading.

She places her hand on his arm lightly, never once looking up at him.

"Mon..." he whispers slowly, but she shakes her head.

"Don't," she whispers back fiercely. "Just. Don't."

He forces himself to be silent. He will talk to her when they reach the end of the aisle. He will make her understand that the last thing he'd wanted was to hurt her.

Once they reach the end of the aisle, though, she pulls her hand away from him and swiftly turns away, heading out the wedding hall.

He runs after her, not caring that people would wonder where the Maid of Honor and the Best Man are going in a hurry.

This is more important. _She_ is more important.

It takes him several seconds to catch up with her, and when he does, he realizes that they'd both reached the hallway of the floor where their rooms are.

He grabs her by her arm, and she pulls away from him forcefully, her cheeks turning dangerously red, her eyes flooding with tears that she tries hard to hold back, but fails miserably.

"Leave me alone!" she hisses, backing against the wall when he comes closer.

"Monica-"

"Are you happy now?" she demands menacingly.

"What?" he whispers, confused and apprehensive.

"Is that what you wanted, revenge? Use me and leave me?"

_Revenge?_ What is she talking about?

And then he realizes that she's referring to their whole ludicrous enmity that had lasted three years, and suddenly he wants to laugh at her naïvety.

"No, Mon," he shakes his head, wanting so badly to pull her into his embrace, but knowing that this time, she wouldn't hesitate to push him away.

He really has hurt her.

"Monica..." he trails off, at a loss of words.

"Why did you leave, Chandler?" she asks softly, tears spilling from her eyes.

He can feel his heart breaking within his chest. "I was scared," he whispers finally.

She looks down, the tears now freely flowing down her cheeks.

She doesn't understand why she is crying – it most probably would have remained a one-night stand. She might never see him again after today.

She had slept with very few men, and none of those men had left her alone in the morning, but she knows she wouldn't have cared even if they had left.

She is now crying because it's _him._

"You don't deserve me," he tells her, his voice gentle. "You deserve someone better, someone who wouldn't run away every time he feels something." He moves closer to her, his words just a breath, "You deserve someone who isn't afraid to fall in love with you."

He reaches for her hand, but she pulls away again, her angry exterior returning.

"You made me feel like a whore."

Her words aren't too loud, but they're loud enough that they echo in the empty hallway. They are loud enough to make him flinch.

"I'm sorry," he shakes his head, suddenly feeling too ashamed to even look at her. "I never meant to hurt you. That's the last thing I wanted." He raises his eyes from the floor reluctantly, to look at her. "I cannot be in a relationship right now," he says slowly. "You want to know the truth?" he tilts his head to one side. "I'm not mature enough to sustain a healthy relationship. I'm sloppy, I'm immature, and I screw things up like nobody's business," he smiles lightly. "Believe me, you wouldn't want to be with this Chandler, either."

His fingers rise to wipe her tears away. She allows him to touch her this time.

"This may sound cliché, but I have to tell you – it's _not_ you," he says emphatically. "You're perfect; perfect in every single way there is," he brushes his knuckles against her cheek, her tears moistening his fingers. "It's all me. I'm sorry I hurt you. I never meant to," he sighs. "But commitment has never been my thing, it probably never will be." His thumb trails down her cheek, tracing the stains that her tears had left. "I'm sorry for everything," he whispers finally.

She remains quiet for several moments before she gently moves away from his touch and looks up at him. "I never asked you to be in a relationship with me," she shakes her head. Her voice is low and husky. Her eyes brim with fresh tears. "I just wanted you to stay."

~.~.~

_A/N: If you indeed had finished this in one sitting, I applaud you! _

_So how do you like this fic so far? I'd appreciate it very much if you'd let me know :)_

_HALLELUJAH, certaindarkthings, Stephy-Lou Clark-Weasley, WendyCR72, gAnGsTa GaBbY lOvEs JoKeR, ladover, Shyfighter, MatTeneyMoNdlerLoVer, ScandalousScavos, Trude, dizuz, Gabbergirl11, Mystery Girl 911, Ghee Buttersnaps15, and matteney - as always, thank you for all those amazing reviews! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your confidence in me as a writer. Thank you!_

_Oh, and another thing - I most probably will change the rating of this fic from T to M when I post the next chapter. So, unless you have either me/this story on alert or unless you check the M-rated category from time to time, you might miss the next update._


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